Dust from the
Saharan desert
fills these
hills like
smog fills
the city streets.
It settles through
the hollows
making every
scenic view
rolling out
the distance
as I gaze over
the ridges.
I stand
waist deep
in brush
and poison ivy to
reach the black
scattered along
the edges where
the field meets
the forest.
Tulip poplar
saplings brush
my elbows,
my fingers
stained purple,
my hair blows
into my face,
and I feel the
humid wind of
change as I fill
my bowl
with berries.